


Precipice

by Kaz_Langston, zephalien



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22634140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaz_Langston/pseuds/Kaz_Langston, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zephalien/pseuds/zephalien
Summary: The roof of the police station is nearly sixty feet up. Alec Hardy contemplates that fact.Their relationship can be read how you like.
Relationships: Paul Coates & Alec Hardy
Comments: 1
Kudos: 31





	Precipice

Hardy sometimes envies the people who choose the cliffs.

The station's only a few stories tall. The bullpen's on the second floor, the balcony a breath of fresh air but the height doesn't make his head swim, doesn't make the thoughts at the back of his head trickle to the forefront of his mind. The roof, where some of the uniforms sneak up for a smoke, is another issue entirely.

Five stories.

Nearly sixty feet.

Probably enough.

It would be better, he thinks, than waiting. Waiting for the heart problems to get worse, a slow inevitable decline marked with tear-strewn revelations to Daisy, to Tess if she still cares, to anyone else who gives the slightest bit of a damn about him. To Ellie, if she's still speaking to him.

He walks the cliffs, sometimes, but the sound of the waves drives him back before he can get near the edge, before he can contemplate... anything. At the station, the harbour deadens the sound of waves, reducing the noise to just the rushing wind and the blood in his ears.

Late one Friday night, he stands there, shivering in shirt sleeves in the autumn air. The balustrade is waist height on him, a comfortable height to grip firmly and lean his weight against, looking out onto the night sky. He can feel his heart throbbing in his chest, catching too fast, and he doesn't know if it's his condition or the anxiety of his thoughts that's driving it.

He's alone, no one in the bullpen - everyone vanishing off to the pub - and just one or two on reception, though they're certainly not going to be paying attention to errant DIs lingering on rooftops.

His head hangs low between his shoulders, only his braced arms holding him up. The wind whips at his hair, a cold bite to it that brings tears to his eyes, and he hauls himself forward until his hip bones press against the chill metal.

He stands there for a long time. Minutes, at least. Perhaps longer. The wind burns as it snatches away the liquid on his cheeks.

There's a shout below him, and he turns his head as though in a daze.

"Alright up there?"

Paul Coates, standing below him under the streetlight, an easy smile on his face.

Hardy stares at him, not quite understanding the question. He can feel the blankness on his face but he can't quite decide how to arrange his expression.

He can't see clearly, not with the dim lighting and the distance, but he thinks that warm face curls into something more concerned.

"DI Hardy?"

He pushes himself back from the barrier, just enough that it's not biting at his skin.

"Stop shouting, don't y'know what time it is?"

Paul sticks his hands in his pocket, but does lower his voice. "Can I come up?"

Hardy stares down at him, then abruptly turns towards the stairs, taking them slowly, then the lift once he reaches the next level. Coates is still there when he pushes through the entrance doors. Closer up, the expression is just as concerned as he thought. The vicar's hands are jammed deep in his pockets. "Want to go for a walk?" Paul offers.

Hardy stares at him. "Did you want something?"

Paul's lips tug in a smile and he tilts his head to one side. "I think I was just in the right place at the right time."

Hardy strides forward on the sidewalk, not wanting to acknowledge how correct Paul's assumption might be.

Paul follows, picking up his pace to walk off at Hardy's side. He's quiet.

"Do you always holler at people on roofs?" Hardy asks after a few long minutes.

Paul takes in the carefully neutral tone and sets his own tone evenly to match. "Not always."

A little later, Paul adds, "Do you always stand on roofs?" Hardy looks at him, but Paul's facing forward. His expression is calm and even.

"Not always," Hardy says in return.

They walk for a while longer, neither quite certain what to say, and it's Paul who eventually breaks the silence. "I've seen you out on the cliffs a few times. During my walks."

"Oh?" Hardy says absently.

"Yeah. Never been sure if I should come and chat." Paul's voice is so easy. Like he's discussing the weather.

Hardy nods, not wanting to look over at Paul again. Not sure what he'd see in the man's expression. Not sure what he'd want to see.

The walk stretches on for another long silence. It's not uncomfortable, not like he often is with people, but it's still heavy. He's grateful Paul hasn't made him explain himself. He doesn't like that Paul probably already knows, but at least he hasn't had to say the words.

"I don't really like the cliffs. I usually stick to the hills myself." Paul tells him conversationally, hands tucked in his jeans.

Hardy doesn't want to press him, but he feels a gnawing urge to know. So, he asks. "Why's that?"

Paul smiles at him, a sad soft thing. "I think too much when I'm there. Not good for me. You know."

It's a statement, not a question. Hardy does know. It's the edge. The feeling of a precipice.

He swallows, throat dry and sticking. "Does that... um... help?"

Paul shrugs. "A bit."

They wander for a while. Hardy knows it's probably awful of him, but Paul's small admission gives him a little comfort. He'd be glad if no one knew the feeling. That urge. But it helps to know someone else does. That Paul's still here. Solid and very real.

"It's like alcohol." Paul says, long enough after his last words that Hardy hadn't expected him to continue.

He stays silent, but Paul knows he's listening.

"I don't let myself near it, but you never really stop thinking. It's just further away. It's easier to keep yourself alive if it's not in front of you." Paul's face turns swiftly away from where he's been carefully staring straight ahead, and Hardy can't see his expression.

He allows Paul a moment of privacy. "I'm sorry you feel that way." He offers gently after Paul looks ahead once more.

"We all have our struggles." Paul smiles serenely at the ground.

Hardy thinks about that for a while as they walk. He'd known Paul had a checkered past, but at the time he'd found out it hadn't really been a focus. He certainly hadn't paused mid-investigation to ask how he'd felt about it.

"Do you always go out walking at night?" He asks eventually, feeling a bit shy.

Paul hums, tipping his head thoughtfully. "Most nights."

Hardy can feel his skin prickling in the night air. It's the first time in hours he's really felt the cold, though he's been outside for a while now. Paul doesn't say anything, but before long they can see the lights of the station.

"Do you ever get lonely?" The words tumble out before Hardy can stop them, and he cringes. He didn't mean it the way it had come out.

Paul pulls a self conscious face, half amused. "Why? You offering?"

"Yeah," Hardy admits, studying his feet as he steps, though there's no breaks in the pavement that might catch an inattentive stride. "Might be... nice?"

"That does sound nice." Paul agrees, though there's a hint of amusement threading through his tone.

As they reach the station, they come to a halt as though by mutual agreement, just outside the circle of light cast by the streetlamp.

"Thanks for the walk," Hardy says. "It, ah, came at the right time, I think."

Paul tilts his head, eyes warm. Hardy notices, suddenly, quite how green they are. "Next time you feel like walking the cliffs - let me know. We can walk together."


End file.
